Chapter 11: Merlin Thinks Things Over
Arthur was in the study, proof-reading the text of a short article he had written for the Institute's quarterly Bulletin. Merlin could hear him quietly cursing every time he came across a typographical error.
He himself was prowling about the bedroom, going over and separating the clothes he wore to work and those he wore at home. His side of the closet had become an appalling mess (rather like his tiny office at the museum), and Arthur had given him a pointed look that morning as he pulled a pale blue shirt and darker blue silk tie out of his section of the closet. Merlin surveyed his own office garments: jeans and black jeans, a few good shirts, some relatively new hoodies, long- and short-sleeved tees, and striped rugby jerseys. Arthur had (in spite of Merlin's loud protests) bought him several winter pullover shirts of fine wool, slimly cut, that didn't hang loosely on his thin frame the way his old tees did. There was the one good suit he wore to receptions and auction houses, and the tuxedo he had grudgingly purchased for himself at Brooks Brothers shortly before the "Valiant incident" at the Metropolitan Museum. Then there was the stylish Vivienne Westwood blazer Arthur had bought for him in London, hanging next to what Arthur referred to as his "deplorable excuse for a brown jacket." And that was all.
Merlin remembered Will's long ago comment that Arthur Pendragon only went out with glamorous and fashionable people. Ah well, poor Arthur, doomed to spend his life with an un-glamorous, un-fashionable idiot who spent most of his time clad in jeans and tees or striped rugby shirts. His clothes sense had improved slightly since he had come to work at the Institute, but he still had a tendency to reach into his closet and simply grab what came closest to hand.
In any case, it was plain as day that Arthur hadn't chosen him for the way he dressed or the crowd he belonged to. Merlin had never bothered to read up on material from the old society columns and gossip columns of various magazines and newspapers, but according to Will, Arthur had been photographed any number of times at high-end restaurants and museum benefit parties, in the company of some beautifully dressed young woman or elegant man. He had never been the subject of a Hollywood-style sex scandal or gotten involved with wild party types or so-called "celebrity fuckers" (he had selected his partners with care), but he had enjoyed quite a reputation as a sex-god amongst people in the art world and museum professionals. As for his partners – he had wooed them with candle-lit dinners and weekend trips to the Hamptons, or some such place, before making his move, and had been generous with tastefully chosen (never ostentatious) gifts. It made Merlin smile a little to hear of these things, because he hadn't experienced them.
Arthur had never wooed him; they had simply fallen into a pattern of slightly barbed, friendly banter and a camaraderie that had been – in the early days of Merlin's employment at the Institute – completely devoid of flirtatiousness. And he, Merlin, had been totally clueless. It had not in any way occurred to him that the handsome Assistant Director might find him interesting or appealing.
The realization that Arthur Pendragon was attracted to him, desired him, and the even more shocking realization that he could respond to this, emotionally and physically, had hit him like the proverbial thunderbolt. No sooner had they acknowledged these feelings to each other than they had flung themselves desperately into bed…something they had done repeatedly and secretively until the "Valiant incident" had outed them. Arthur had been quite calm about people knowing – he was, after all, accustomed to being in the limelight, and was in no way ashamed of his attachment to Merlin – and once publicity died down, and the paparazzi found other things to focus on, life had gone back to normal. Their behavior at the museum remained entirely professional, and they continued to banter, trade insults, and argue over work-related issues as they always had. The only changes were that everybody in the Institute knew about them (and most of them had suspected, anyway), and that You-Know-Who, that is, Uther Pendragon, had to deal with the fact that his son had fallen in love.
"Mer-lin," said Arthur, emerging from the study with his beautifully cut blond hair standing on end, where he had raked his fingers through it repeatedly.
"Hmmm?" replied Merlin, raising his eyebrows questioningly, and putting the pile of old shirts he had been examining back on the bed.
"Have you seen my file on the Institute's recent acquisitions?" his Assistant Director grumbled, his eyes flicking over the piles of books next to the bed, on the nightstand, and on one of the armchairs. "I think we should bring it with us to London…if we're going to go to Bath, to see old Pel, I'd like to show it to him."
"Old Pel?" asked Merlin, his mind having returned to the contents of the closet.
"Pelles Fisher-King, idiot," Arthur said amiably. "He wants to show us a manuscript, remember?"
"Oh yeah, your cousin by marriage, or whatever," Merlin replied. "Are we going to be inundated with a horde of arrogant Pendragons, then?"
"There aren't all that many of them," murmured Arthur, paying no attention to the insult and locating the missing file, shoved beneath a folded garment that turned out to be Merlin's seldom-used pyjama bottoms. "There are a couple of girl cousins. I remember when I was fifteen, and we used to visit them in Devon. We'd go on picnics, and I'd spend as much time as possible investigating the local shrubbery with their very eager school friends."
"You slut," said Merlin jokingly, and Arthur threw a cushion at him.
"They were pretty, as I recall," he went on, ignoring Merlin's rolling eyes. "The friends, I mean. Of course, when you're fifteen, any girl not averse to snogging in the bushes seems pretty."
"You didn't steal their virtue, I hope," said Merlin, trying to sound severe but failing completely.
"Certainly not," Arthur stated with conviction. "I never. Although mine had been stolen already…when I was fourteen."
"Really?" said Merlin with lively curiosity. "By whom?"
"Oh…the older sister of one of my friends," Arthur replied musingly. "She was seventeen, studying for her university exam, and was bored. So she seduced me in the back seat of her car."
"Sounds like fun," said Merlin, chuckling at the thought of a teenaged Arthur in the back seat of a car, his trousers down about his knees. "Was she on top?"
"Merlin!" snapped Arthur, drawing his eyebrows together. "I don't ask you for the details of your first time."
"I don't remember most of the details myself," Merlin said, smiling. "I mean, I was drunk, and she was only a little less drunk. But she obviously knew exactly how to—"
"Um, yes," said Arthur, biting his lip and staring at Merlin through narrowed eyes. "Well, was she on top?"
"Not exactly," replied Merlin, wrinkling his brow. "We may have started out that way, but we were sort of rolling down a hillside, and sometimes she was on top, and sometimes I was, and by the time we reached the bottom—"
"I get the picture," said Arthur, still staring. "You country boys and girls."
"And we were right out in the open, for pity's sake," Merlin went on, remembering. "Anybody could've seen us. Of all the ridiculous…not that I'm likely to do anything like that again."
"You are most definitely not going to do anything like that again," said Arthur, firmly. "You're mine." He spoke with the intense possessiveness that Merlin had become accustomed to, before grabbing the front of Merlin's ratty old tee shirt and yanking him in.
"Mmmph, urrf, Arfur," said Merlin several minutes later, attempting to disengage his mouth. "Hadn't you better finish…?" He jabbed his finger vaguely in the direction of the study.
Arthur sighed, took a deep breath, and released him, reluctantly. He was flushed, his hair was all blond feathers over his eyebrows, his mouth a little swollen. Merlin secretly loved it when he looked like this – so unlike the controlled, impeccably dressed and coifed junior ruler of the Institute.
"Bloody semi-colons and apostrophes," Arthur was muttering, looking as though his article was the last thing he wanted to think about. "I keep forgetting to put them in. Julian must want to kill me."
Julian was their freelance editor, who went over every word in anything written for the Institute' Bulletin, with a fine-toothed comb. He was very liberal with red ink and snapped at Arthur for any spelling error he might make (even as a typo). Morgana, who had also been snapped at for her negligence when it came to deadlines, suspected that he took great pleasure in correcting their grammar and spelling. Johnny, who designed the Bulletin's layout, was equally nitpicky and cranky about article length, footnotes, and the number of illustrations Arthur wanted to use.
"I am surrounded by intolerant people," Arthur was grumbling crossly as he headed back to the study.
"I am a very tolerant person," Merlin said brightly. "Which is obvious, as I'm living with you."
"That statement falls under the category of punishable," said Arthur, suddenly looking more cheerful. "Just you wait."
"By the way," he added, before disappearing through the study door. "I hope you have a copy of your birth certificate. You'll need it for our, um, you-know-what."
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Merlin only thought sporadically about the you-know-what. Until Arthur's proposal, he had never given any thought to the possibility of such a thing, or considered it necessary. He was with Arthur because he had come to love him, and had not believed that there was any reason for a legal bond. He felt absolutely no need to be connected to Arthur's wealth, his social position, his family. But this was what Arthur wanted, and because Arthur loved him and he wanted to make Arthur happy, this was what he was going to get.
The staff of the Institute seemed to be delighted by the prospect of a Pendragon-Emrys "marriage," and he knew Arthur's stepsister (as difficult a person as she could be), stepmother, and half brother were in favor of it. He had no illusions about Uther's feelings on the matter, however, and Uther was still the head of the Pendragon clan. A family Merlin didn't think he was going to fit into very comfortably.
About Uther. Well, he was a good museum director (Merlin had to give him credit for that), and had a good eye for important works of art. He was quite civil to Merlin on the few occasions when they had to be in each other's company. (Merlin also tried to give him credit for that.) He meant well, and endeavored to do right by his family, his museum, his associates, and the corporation (Albion Inc.) of which he was a board member. But Merlin had the distinct impression that if this were the Middle Ages, and Uther was a king, he would happily pooh-pooh the idea of trial by jury and make all the justice-type decisions by himself. Oh, and he would throw all skinny junior conservators in the dungeon, or send them into exile, to keep them as far away as possible from his golden-haired son, the crown prince.
He might even have their heads lopped off, or burn them at the stake.
Oh hell, he wasn't marrying Uther, he was marrying Arthur, and although Arthur was deferential to his father, and never rebelled against him openly, he was also a man who stood his ground when it came to what he believed was right. And he evidently felt it was right to enter into this civil union thingy with Merlin.
Merlin sighed and put his head in his hands.
In the meantime, there was Morgana's obsession with weddings to contend with. She seemed to be angling for some sort of ceremony involving flowers, guests, confetti, a receiving line, white cakes, and (Merlin shuddered) probably even dancing.
"I'm a terrible dancer," Merlin had said the day before.
"So?" Arthur replied. "This is something I need to know, because?"
"There is no way, absolutely no way, that I'm dancing with you after this…this thing, in front of your friends and family," Merlin had stated emphatically.
"Thank God," Arthur had replied tartly. "I've no desire to have my feet trodden on and knees bruised only hours before I drag you to the nuptial bed and ravish you senseless."
Well, that was one problem taken care of.
When Merlin thought about their civil union, and what he would like it to be, he thought in terms of signing the document – in the presence of their witnesses, who would include his mother, Arthur's family, and a few close friends - and perhaps enjoying a festive champagne lunch or dinner later. Then everybody else would go away, and he and Arthur could spend a quiet(!) night in some nice hotel room far enough away from Belgrave Square to ensure that no other Pendragons were lurking in the area.
"Ha!" said Arthur, suddenly emerging from the study, rubbing his brow with both fists and then stretching and flexing his shoulder muscles.
"Ha what?" Merlin asked, startled out of his confused imaginings.
"I just got an email from The Dragon, of all people," replied his Assistant Director. "He said to tell you that you've actually saved the Institute money, through preventive care of the manuscripts, John the Baptist, and Lord Moldywart. The cost of having to practically rebuild them if they fell apart – that is, the materials we would need for such a thing, and the overtime you'd have to put in – would have been ruinous, according to him. So he's more than happy to have you on board, even though he had doubts when Father first hired you. Besides, I think he rather likes you."
"No," said Merlin, frowning.
"I didn't mean he likes you for your pretty face," Arthur said flatly. "I meant he likes you because you fit into the museum family very neatly. There's nothing worse, according to him, than dealing with colleagues who don't get along."
"I'm not going to get along with anybody," Merlin responded, "unless you finish proofing that bloody article so we can go out and get some dinner. I'm famished, and in case you never noticed, I have a very high metabolism."
"Fine," snapped Arthur, spinning round and heading back to the study. "Give me five minutes. The damn thing's almost done. Then we can go out, and you can fill yourself with calories, and then work them off later when we go to bed."
